s worth. Then, with
a long sigh, half of relief, half of sorrow that he had lost the
companion of so many months, he settled down to put certain lazy,
finishing touches to his overture, (already accepted by the Moscow
orchestra); to sleep as he would; and dream, delightfully, as only the
true artist can, of his forthcoming task: his opera, "The Boyar." And
yet, despite the joys of resting his tired body and yet more tired mind,
his contentment was not complete. For each succeeding day increased the
restless impatience with which he awaited his letter from Petersburg.

* * * * *

At eight o'clock on the evening of April 7th Anton Rubinstein, in the
living-room of his luxurious Petersburg suite, was sitting at his piano,
where, spread out before him, were some sixty sheets of finely-written
manuscript music:--a piano score. The master was playing from it,
contemplatively, a swinging, swaying minor melody, interwoven with an
intricate and rich accompaniment. He had reached a pause, betokening
some change of _tempo_ or key, when the portieres were pushed
noiselessly aside, and a servitor in livery appeared, announcing:

"The Herr Direktor!"

At once Zaremba, tall, angular, round-shouldered, his fluffy reddish
hair and side whiskers looking thinner and fluffier than ever, entered,
throwing the garments which he had refused the footman down upon one end
of a long, Turkish divan.

Then the new-comer advanced, deliberately, to the piano, halted in the
side angle of the instrument, and returned the long, white-faced stare
with which Rubinstein greeted him. Finally the head of the Conservatoire
uttered a dry:

"Well?"

The _virtuoso_ shook the long hair back from his face, cleared his
throat, and murmured, hesitating, peculiarly, after each word: "The
thing--has--several--good points."

"Points!" Zaremba croaked, scornfully. "Points!--It's a masterpiece!"

Anton Rubinstein sprang to his feet, oversetting the piano-chair in
which he had been sitting. "Well--what if it is?"--pacing rapidly up
and down.--"What if, by accident, it happens to be--remarkable? The
fellow's a boy--a mere child--in his trustfulness!--And he's never done
anything like this--before.--It'll turn his head, completely--if he
learns the--this opinion, of yours. Besides, he'll believe exactly what
we tell him. And--and--"

"And he might suddenly turn _virtuoso_; in which case Monsieur
Rubinstein--the _gr-r-reat_ Monsie